Tondar & Co.

or

Profit for the Fat-man

Chapter 1 - Winter Tales ...and I said 'That's no whore! That's my wife!' laughter filled the last well lit corner of the Stormstead while Tondar the merchant slapped his thigh with glee and drained the last of his wine. He wiped his moistened lips with the back of his hand and smiled at his select audience. It was only the veteran drinkers and tale-tellers left awake now, Thone the elven minstrel had spun famous ballads and was quenching his thirst near the fire, while the Second Army Kings-men who had earlier re-enacted the tale of Ivar the Boneless much to the delight of young and old had drunk themselves into an insensate heap. And as the snow drift had deepened, the families had bedded themselves into various corners, leaving the Merchant, a pipe-smoking woman who claimed to be a Baker, a black robed old man and Wulf the broad chested Storm-steader huddled round the last cask of the dark Winter-Porter ale. Tondar's mother described him as thick-set and hearty but he was under no illusions that he was, with the best will in the world a short, fat, man a list of adjectives to which he recently begun to add balding. The thinning of hair on his pate had led to new and exciting penchant for hat wearing that he felt added to his height if not to his bearing. No amount of fine clothes or jewellery could disguise his short-comings but it was the perfect carriage for a merchant. No-one ever felt threatened or wary of a tubby little man in red robes, and his endless good humour combined with a silver tongue and an eye for a deal had led him to nearly every corner of the world. Wealth and a family had come easily to him but what he loved more than anything else was a good story, from Sea Captains to monks, Tondar had collected, swapped and embellished all manner of tales. Some of the best were always to be found in a Storm-stead. Round after round of stories was the tradition, and as the night had drawn in deeper and colder, the tales had become ever more lurid. Come on Thone you must have a late night tale that'll warm my heart? rasped the Merchant. Sit with us if you're not too grand and I'll see if I've got a story that'll make those pale cheeks of yours blush. Scarcely had the slender Elf raised an eyebrow at Tondar's offer when two, blizzard battered figures staggered through the furs that kept the snow at bay and wove their way through the sleeping travellers to the centre-hearth. One of them was gigantic and as its cloak fell away, the Storm-steader drew his weapon as quick as any man and faced off against the grey-skinned muscled bulk before him. I'll not have Troll spawn here!
Tondar & Co. 1 Rich Blackett

You'll wake your patrons.... his companion whispered. Turning to face the second traveller he was mollified to see a man in Royal uniform, albeit dishevelled, emerge from the thick winter-cloak. Dark haired and heavily scarred, the man grinned and seemed to revel in Wulf's confusion at his bedraggled appearance. Sergeant Mear of the Fifth at your service... at ease Corporal. To Wulf's amazement the massive Troll relaxed and took a step back. Now as you're no-doubt aware under the terms of the agreement between the Great Caliph and King Esgfrith all travellers are to be welcomed at Stormsteads... ...for the duration of of the Short-day storms. finished Wulf. I know the law as well as anyone but... ..if you'll sheath your blade and allow me to explain, perhaps a barrel of the strong stuff'll change your mind? Grashkh, show the man what we've brought. The Troll produced a quarter-cask of dwarven wood so dark it was nearly black. Now then, would that be worth a seat by your fire? Dwarf ice... Wulfs blade sagged in his hand. The one and only, direct from Sudheim! Should be nice and chilled now, so let's get us some cups and we'll get back to the tale-telling! What do you say? The fire crackled, the Troll snorted briefly, Wulf opened and closed his mouth but no sounds came out. I say sit away sir! And you may borrow my cup if their are none to spare...!, Tondar had broken the tension. I am but a humble caravan trader, but I would gladly sit with you and your ah... companion for a taste of filtered Dwarf Ice. The man muttered something guttural and the Troll headed past Wulf for a comfortable spot, Sergeant Mear clasped the bearded man on the shoulder. Cups? So the mood shifted and Wulf came to his senses and brought extra cups and the two new-comers sat by the hearth and poured the clear spirit as liberally as if it were spring water. Finally all palates were cleansed and all tongues loosened. Perhaps you might tell us why a Troll serves with the Kings Army? It was the dark-robed old man. Sergeant Mear stretched and looked around expectantly - but found only enquiring looks. Oh surely you've heard of the Fifth? No? Honestly, I know we're on the frontier but... He poured himself another shot of Dwarf Ice and sighed. The short version. King Esgfrith, you have heard of him? Has four sons and an army for each, but as a younger man he took up with a Subian
Tondar & Co. 2 Rich Blackett

courtesan. Long story short... it turns out he had a son with her, who's a year older than his halfbrothers. Embrrassing. Indeed old man, indeed. And if he'd been anything like his Grandfather he would have had him quietly strangled. But he really liked that Subian girl so he made the lad give up all claims on his birth-right in return for an army of his own. She must've been quite... exquisite? opined the Elf who had finally deigned to join the group. Oh minstrel, she was beautiful, big eyes, legs that went on forever... trust me I've seen the etchings at the palace! He paused for another cup of the thick clear brew. So if even your own father isn't keen on you and you've nowhere else to go you can find a place in The Fifth. Or... for example you were caught tupping the big-titted twin daughters of the Regimental captain and avoided a beheading because his... ah wife helped you escape. Then you might also find a place in the Fifth.... And the Troll? Wulf was staring directly at the visitors, unsmiling. Oh Grashkh? That's a tale in itself, but maybe another time eh? The short version is he's paying off a debt, and doing his fifteen years like the rest of us. Wulf looked unconvinced but the Dwarf ice had finally reached his head and he let the matter rest So then lads... and lady, would you hear the tale of the Old Dragon or maybe the Princess of Steel? Oh you're too late for the Valour rounds Sergeant Mear, Tondar interjected. We've already had the tale of Ivar and from that snoring fellow and his companions from the Second, we even had a few scenes from the Last Demon. Now the children are long abed and we're onto the rounds of bawd. he chuckled and before you entered I was about to hear my first dirty Elvish story... isn't that right Thone my lad? Thone sipped his cup of Dwarf Ice, thoughtfully. Perhaps, but it will be no ballad. I'd have it no other way sir! Isn't that right Nance? he nudged matronly woman beside him who puffed silently on her pipe and nodded mutely. So let's hear it Thone, do your worst! You have heard of course of the Dark elves? ..to be continued....

Tondar & Co.

Rich Blackett